


i'm the treasure, baby, i'm the prize

by iridescent_blue



Series: How to Be a Human Being [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, almost 6k of andrew being horny for neil p much, barely there kevaaron, but its there because i Said So, i guess? theres a bj in there, ill put that in the notes dw, like if you squint?, like one paragraphs worth, mentions of vomit, oh andrews a book hoe in this one they never talk about it but yeah, old flame au? i guess?, one (1) heavy makeout session, started as canon compliant and then deviated pretty fucking quick, this is all prolly ooc but when has that EVER stopped me hahA, unbetaed and unedited because im the Fool, what counts as an old flame lmao im baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25614307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescent_blue/pseuds/iridescent_blue
Summary: Andrew has a problem. The problem is that Neil got hot. Well, he was gorgeous before, in that summer in those abandoned places, but now it's just criminal.Too bad Andrew can't do anything about it.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: How to Be a Human Being [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856641
Comments: 39
Kudos: 305





	i'm the treasure, baby, i'm the prize

**Author's Note:**

> whats up fuckos this is the squeakquel to In The Summer Silence and it will Not make sense if you haven't read that
> 
> title from Glass Animals' Take a Slice (aka the bottom anthem of the CENTURY)
> 
> hey friend (singular) who knows about my ao3 if you're reading this then just don't! just don't. this is me being horny for 5.8k words. 
> 
> anyways here are some trigger warnings loves the last thing i want is for u to get uncomfy  
> vomit:  
> only referenced but starts at "Andrew naps on the ride to Columbia" and ends with "Andrew can look out the window without craving death" (just 3 paragraphs)  
> sexual assault:  
> never actually stated but heavily implied. skip from "At least he brings his blankets back to the dorms this time" to "And when he comes back, the rabbit's been caught." 
> 
> anyways stay safe reading if you have more questions/concerns then pop me a message on tumblr @fxcrt fic is supposed to be enjoyable not triggering! love u

_ I don’t ever want to pick a slice _

_ One is pretty but the other lies _

Neil got hot. That’s all Andrew can think about, driving him to Wymack’s from the airport. Even with darker brown hair and bland brown contacts washing him out, Neil is  _ gorgeous. _ He’s lost the baby fat on his face and his cheekbones are sharper than ever. Neil’s all muscle, long and lean even though he’s still oh-so-short and Andrew prides himself on only checking his ass out once in the time that it took for them to walk to his car. Sue him. It’s a nice ass. Andrew would say he knows what it feels like in his hand, but that was years ago and Neil has changed.

Unfortunately, the nausea from being off his meds prevents him from acting on it. Oh, and, he’s pretending to be vaguely disinterested and pissy to convince Neil that he is his twin. It would probably be bad form to jump him.

Neil is just as skittish as when Andrew had met him in that summer, if not more. No mother in sight. Either they had split up or she was dead. Regardless, Andrew’s glad she’s no longer in the picture. He had seen the bruises on Neil’s arms, remnants of someone grabbing on to him just a bit too hard. Good fucking riddance. 

He would deal with the past later. For now, he needed to be sure that Neil hadn’t become a threat. Andrew only knew him for a few weeks, and that was years ago. Neil was still running, what with his duffel and unsubtle checking for the nearest exit with every step he took. Besides, if he wasn’t running, then why the fuck was he in  _ Arizona? _ He’d confessed to hating the heat, and from Andrew’s limited exposure, that was all Millport was.

He can’t afford to get attached. Not now, when he already has his hands full with Nicky and Aaron and Kevin and his meds tangling everything into one neon mess that makes him laugh until he wants to claw his diaphragm out. 

So he avoids Neil. Well, not exactly. He avoids one specific topic of conversation that he can tell Neil  _ also _ doesn’t want to talk about, and forces his boundless, drug-induced energy into figuring out what makes Neil tick. He freezes when he hears German, clenches his fists when Andrew speculates about what he’s hiding (to his credit, that was a particularly  _ asshole-ish _ move of Andrew’s brain), he’s oddly calm when Andrew pulls a knife on Nicky, which is strange because Andrew felt knife scars across his abdomen. Anyway, Nicky was out of line, and it’s not his fault for trying to call dibs on Neil. He doesn’t know about that summer, and if Andrew has his way, he won’t find out. No one will find out, because there aren’t enough therapy sessions to parse through his problems already, and getting involved with Neil would just necessitate more. 

So, Andrew resigns himself to appreciating Neil from afar. He memorizes how Neil’s muscles shift under his gear, how his shirt clings to his stomach when he comes out of the showers. He knows Neil’s scars, at least the old ones, remembers running his hands across them, remembers Abram whispering to him that he can only half-feel Andrew’s touch and resolving to press just a bit firmer to remind Abram that  _ he’s alive, he made it. _

The useless, drugged up parts of Andrew’s brain are more interested in finding out what would get Neil to make those noises that he remembers in such perfect quality from a few years ago. Would he be quieter now? Louder? Has he been with anyone else? If so, does he have more experience? Would he try to touch Andrew now or would he be just as careful as he was that summer?

Or maybe, he supposes, sober for the night while Kevin obsesses down on the court, he should stop entertaining useless hypotheticals about sucking a runaway’s dick and start thinking about the threat said runaway poses to his family. 

Speak of the devil, and he doth appear. In basketball shorts.  _ Shit. _ Something new to latch on to, Andrew supposes. Without taking his eyes off the court, Neil says, “Won’t you play with him?”

“No.” Simple fact. Andrew hates Kevin’s obsession with stickball almost as much as he hates himself, which is saying a  _ lot. _ It’s pointless and Andrew would prefer to spend his precious hours of sobriety lying still, listening to the world turn around him. Silence has always been his friend. Neil was quiet then. Hopefully he still is. Based on the evidence, Andrew’s not optimistic.

Speaking of which, the resident idiot won’t keep his mouth shut about Exy. “I think he’d benefit more if you did.”

Cheap shot. “And?” Andrew says. Kevin’s already incredible, Andrew doesn’t need to get all sweaty to facilitate that. 

Neil’s gaze flicks to his armbands.  _ Ah. _ Neil hadn’t seen them yet. With Tilda, Andrew had just worn long sleeves everywhere. After Aaron got sober and regained some weight, Andrew made his first pair out of an old, too-small shirt. Renee sewed him a new pair in freshman year when she saw him tugging at the fraying hems. 

Slowly, he slides a knife out. Lets it sit under the lights for a moment, then tucks it away. Neil swallows. 

“You didn’t have those.” False. Andrew’s had his armbands since before Neil assumed this identity. But it’s still cryptic.

“When did I not have these.” Excluding when Andrew drove Neil back from the airport, he’s had them on the whole time around Neil.

“Last time.” Oh, so Neil  _ does _ remember. How about that, rabbit?

“What last time?” Andrew asks and silently relishes in how Neil grows uncomfortable for just a second like he’s remembered wrong or has the wrong person.

Andrew watches the rise and fall of Neil’s chest as he takes a deeper breath, notes the little clench of his fists as he says, “Tell me you remember, Andrew.”

He’s so desperate. Andrew is too. They fit like pieces from different puzzles that summer, their jagged edges negotiating a truce where they may not have perfectly interlocked, but they fit. “I can’t forget, Abram,” he says, an animal that has been starving for far too long. 

Neil blanches at his real name, then offers Andrew a tiny smile that could be considered bashful if Andrew was a romantic. But he’s not, so it’s just a little smile that has Andrew tagging it and cataloging it in his brain as something to look over later, to hold close to his chest and examine until he sees the mistake that peels back the curtain from this moment, exposing it as nothing but a figment of his imagination. Later, though.

Fuck it, they’ve made it this far. “Why stop running?” Andrew prods. “You weren’t in Columbia for more than a few weeks, but you’re signing yourself over to five years here.” It doesn’t make  _ sense, _ and Andrew  _ hates _ things that don’t make sense. 

Any trace of that hopeful Neil is gone, replaced by someone who’s lived through too much, too fast. “I’m just tired,” he says, “I guess. I have nowhere else to go. No matter what, I’m going to be dead soon. My mother’s dead, and the only people left for me are the ones who will kill me.”

Andrew’s soul aches with  _ knowing _ . He knows the helplessness, the resignation that “family” will be his eventual demise, knows how hard it is to fight to keep moving. But this proves that even though Neil may not be a threat, he’s bringing one too close to Andrew’s family for comfort.

“When they find you. What will you do?” There are too many correct answers here. Andrew doesn’t care what Neil will do for himself, he just needs Nicky and Kevin and Aaron to be shielded from it.

Neil meets his eyes, determined. “I don’t know. But I promise I will try my hardest to keep it away from you and your family.”  _ Hm, _ Neil Josten, the man whose entire existence is a lie, making a promise? Andrew has half a mind to believe him. But he  _ knows _ Neil, if only a bit. He knows that Neil was against breaking into unused summer homes with his mother because he didn’t want the people hunting him to ransack someone else’s house. Neil doesn’t like collateral.

So Andrew trusts him. He hums, tilting his head back to look up into the rafters, where he once saw a bird’s nest that was gone within a month.

Kevin’s still going at it on the court, hammering ball after ball at a spot on the wall. It’s as rhythmic as some of Andrew’s music, but it’s stickball, so it’s incredibly grating, even though Andrew has two sets of plexiglass shielding him. 

Neil, Exy junkie first and human being second, steers the conversation back to Exy. Specifically, why Andrew doesn’t like it, even though he’s  _ oh so talented _ . But Andrew is a master of deflection, and completely not in an effort to make Neil shy again, he starts going on about Kevin’s hopes and dreams for Neil, even though he’s about to run. It works. Kind of. 

Disbelief looks good on Neil. Well, everything looks good on Neil, but Andrew’s biased. 

_ Sucking on a slim Vogue _

_ Dark fingernail polish _

Andrew needs to take Neil to Columbia. He rationalizes it by thinking of Columbia as  _ his _ turf, his place to finally verify that Neil isn’t a threat. It’s not because he wants to see Neil under the flashing lights of Eden’s, to put him in club clothes that fit and admire the long lines of his body, muscles he knows Neil has gotten through his training with the team.

When Neil steps out of the bathroom, Andrew’s mouth almost starts to water. Goddamn drugs, turning him into a horny feral animal. Even when he’s off of them for the night, his brain is still scrambled and fried. However, he takes some satisfaction that all of the clothes fit properly, and  _ something _ curls in his gut when he sees Abram’s eyes. They’re not Neil Josten’s, because Neil Josten has uninteresting brown eyes. 

Abram’s eyes, however, are a piercing blue. Icy and cold, and their eyes meet, defiance sparkling in Neil’s eyes. Without the contacts in, Neil’s stare makes Andrew feel like he’s being looked  _ through, _ analyzed and then passed over. Neil doesn’t back down from his glare either, no small feat, as Renee is the only one to have weathered Andrew’s stare for nearly this long. 

He’s analyzing Andrew, too. Cataloging the product in his hair, the piercings dotted along his cartilage (he keeps clear ones in during the day since Kevin won’t stop bitching about their effect on his so-called image), his eyes widening as he sees Andrew’s lip ring. Good to know that the missing each other was mutual. 

Andrew pushes himself off the wall and ends up right in front of Neil, grabbing his chin and pulling his face down so they see eye-to-eye. He can feel how Neil relaxes into his hand, maybe remembering how Andrew would sometimes initiate kisses like this. He doesn’t, though, not with Nicky in the room. 

Instead, he says, “Another bit of unexpected honesty, Abram.” 

Neil smiles, razor-sharp, challenging Andrew at every turn, meeting him as an equal, without pity, without fear, solely with the intention of winning at whatever game they’re playing. “You wanted truths. Here’s one on credit.”

Neil is going to be the fucking death of him. 

Andrew naps on the ride to Columbia, violently slamming an elbow into Neil’s solar plexus when Aaron taps him to wake him up. After confirming with Nicky that they’re getting off on the right exit, he sees Neil looking at him. He’s not mad, not frightened. He understands. Andrew shrugs and then realizes just how fucking  _ nauseous _ he is. 

And, well, dry heaving on an exit ramp was never on his bucket list, but then again, neither was playing collegiate Exy. 

At Sweeties, Andrew forces down some cracker packets and sips some water. He really likes the ice cream here and isn’t willing to desecrate it with the memory of mixing it with bile. But the crackers help. By the time they’re back in the car on the way to Eden’s, Andrew can look out the window without craving death.

Roland’s eyes go wide when he sees Neil, and not in an appreciative way. He was in on Andrew’s plan for Matt, and he’s worried. Rightfully so. But Andrew just shakes his head, leans over the bar, and tells him to keep it clean. As much as Andrew hates to admit it, he  _ wants _ Neil to stay, and drugging him would just make the rabbit run far, far away. 

Neil sips at his soda, rolling the can between his hands as he watches Andrew tongue at his lip ring. It’s a fidget he developed when he’s uncomfortable, instead of chewing on the inside of his mouth. Bee gave him the idea. 

Once Kevin is drunk off his ass (or close to it, anyway), Neil turns to Andrew and takes another sip of soda before saying, “Right. Where were we?”

“What?” Andrew isn’t drunk. He knows what being drunk is. So why the  _ fuck _ is Neil making absolutely no sense?

“Apocalypse planning.” Neil waves a hand as if to say _ do keep up. _ “Where were we?”

“What apocalypse are we planning for.”

“I dunno. Zombies? Any new ideas on how it would start?” Neil shrugs. “I know you thought the zombie virus would be an accident that was poorly handled by governments, but you were also sixteen.”

“Now it would probably be more likely that the richest one percent would engineer it as a way to wipe out the lower class, assuming zombies decay and lose complete function eventually.”  _ Fuck, _ Andrew’s missed this. Renee is too optimistic, always thinking about how to stop the problem before it gets out of hand. Andrew is focused on weathering it. It’s one of his greatest talents.

Neil hums in acknowledgment. “Okay. So what would you do?”

Andrew levels a look at Neil. “By that time I hope to be a fortune 500 CEO, so I’ll lock myself in a bunker and leave everyone else to suffer,” he says drily.

Renee would chide him for being so negative and self-centered. Neil just laughs, looking at Andrew in a way that an optimist would describe as fond. Good thing Andrew isn’t one.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, once he’s stopped laughing and schooled his features. “I would go back for you.”

Andrew promptly takes another shot. No feelings, not tonight. Feelings and vomit can’t happen in the same night. 

When they show up at the dorms on Sunday, the upperclassmen look genuinely surprised to see Neil still with them. Renee touches Andrew’s elbow, a silent thanks, as Matt and Dan sweep Neil away. 

They don’t go to Columbia for a few weeks. Kevin’s too high-strung over the Ravens changing districts, and apparently Aaron did not know just how much homework his organic chem class was going to assign. It’s not exactly a problem. If Andrew’s being honest, he misses his bed there more than he misses Eden’s. He neglected to bring any of his fuzzy blankets to the dorms when they moved in, assuming he could take them back after a Columbia trip, but that isn’t happening and the nights are getting colder and Andrew is getting annoyed. 

Finally,  _ finally, _ Kevin relents and they go back to Columbia. Andrew doesn’t puke this time, which is a definite plus, especially because it means he can eat his ice cream. One time, he sprinkled the crackers  _ on _ the ice cream, but the flavors are off just enough that it tasted like garbage. So now he consumes them separately. 

At Eden’s, Neil comes with him to get drinks. While they wait for Roland to finish making up their tray, a big, burly guy bumps into Neil, pushing him into Andrew. It’s the most contact they’ve had since Neil reappeared. He’s no longer bony, Andrew notes. All of Kevin’s night practices and eating like a human instead of a rabbit have helped him gain weight, and now he feels lithe and dangerous. 

Andrew is nothing if not self-destructive, so in a moment of weakness (or bravery, depending on how one looks at it), he slides his arm around Neil’s waist, pulling him closer.

Neil runs hot. Andrew knows that. He’s always in a t-shirt and shorts, relishing time in air conditioning and bitching when someone forgets to leave a door to the inner court open between practices. But pressed together, Andrew realizes how hot Neil is. In both senses. 

Neil flinches a bit, then leans into him more. Andrew splays his fingers on Neil’s hipbone, pressing into the fabric of his jeans, a clear signal to  _ back off, he’s mine. _ Eden’s is a gay bar, as much as Aaron hates to admit it. 

Emboldened, Andrew turns his head to look at Neil.  _ Fuck. _ He’s never wanted to kiss someone so badly. He’s leaning in before he realizes it, because crackers fuck with his self-control, which is already spotty at best due to the drugs, and Neil leans away.

“No.” Andrew flinches back, goes to pull his hand away from Neil’s hip, but Neil grabs it and holds it there. “That’s fine. It’s a no to kissing, Andrew. You’re still high.”

Andrew tilts his head to rest on Neil’s shoulder instead. “Why.” As if anyone’s ever cared about how Andrew felt on the other end. It’s always been about how Andrew made other people feel.

“I won’t be like them.” Neil sounds… small. Vulnerable. It’s only fair since he’s bringing up Andrew’s past, shared under a promise of secrecy. Neil taps Andrew’s nose, and he looks up. “I won’t let you let me be.”

Needless to say, Andrew drinks a bit more than he normally would. Whatever. Not like Neil’s words mean anything. He’s a liar, through and through. 

At least he brings his blankets back to the dorms this time. 

Turns out it doesn’t matter, because he spends Thanksgiving and Christmas at Easthaven, replaying Neil’s terrified eyes and hasty hands covering Andrew with a sheet, Aaron, covered in blood, the naked horror and apology on Nicky’s face. He focuses on Neil as he pukes his way through sobering up, pukes his way through the “therapy” that followed. Neil’s eyes, Neil’s hands, Neil’s legs, the way Neil felt pressed up against him at Eden’s, heart jackrabbiting and eyes alight. 

And when he comes back, the rabbit’s been caught. He’s beaten and bruised, but alive and still with the Foxes. It’s really quite remarkable. 

The first thing he does when he gets his phone back is text Bee. He needs to be reminded that there are good therapists out there, that she is one, that she won’t say a word and will just let him eviscerate himself on her carpet then tuck his organs back in. 

They up their sessions to meet once in person, on Wednesdays, and once on the phone over the weekend. Their phone calls are less formal, more of Andrew briefing Bee on what’s been going on in his head so they can both start parsing through it before they meet in person to lay Andrew’s brain out and poke at the relevant parts. She also writes him a prescription for the antidepressants he should’ve been on the whole time, apologizing that she couldn’t have gotten him on them sooner (they would’ve mixed badly with his other meds). Outwardly, they don’t change much, but Andrew has more energy. He’s not as bored and disinterested. And he  _ wants _ more things. Like gelato, and shitty movies, and fluffy blankets. And Neil.

A month and a half after he gets back to Palmetto, Andrew raises the issue with Bee. She knows everything, praise be the lawyers who came up with HIPAA. They’re sitting in her office, talking about recovery and taking back what happened to Andrew, whether it takes years or decades. And so Andrew bites the bullet and says it. 

“I think I am going to ask Neil.”

If Bee’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. “Why not Roland?” She asks. 

A valid point. Why not Roland? Arguably, he’s more familiar. But still, why Neil? Because Roland hasn’t been the object of Andrew’s thoughts when he jerks off in the shower for months. Because he can’t stop thinking about Neil. Because he’s already done it with Neil, and Bee knows that.

“I tried the last time we were in Columbia.” Bee inclines her head, giving him space to pause, to connect, to put the words out there into the room instead of into her ears. “He said no. He wanted it but he said no because I was high.”

Bee connects the dots. “Combined with your history with Neil, does this make you trust that he will let you stay in control?”

“Yes.” It’s satisfying, Andrew thinks, to admit that he trusts Neil. It’s terrifying, but in the same way that looking over a railing on a roof is. Maybe exhilarating is a better term for it. 

“Then I think,” Bee says, “You have nothing to worry about. Just know your limits and back out if it gets to be too much. Neil hasn’t judged you so far, I don’t think this would push him over the edge. Where would you do it?”

“Columbia. My room has a lock.” It’s also Andrew’s sanctuary, his safe space. He wants Neil there. Thinking about it doesn’t feel like an invasion of his privacy, rather, it’s like an invitation. Both bring someone in, but the intent is what really matters.

Bee hums. “I think that’s a perfectly sensible idea, Andrew. More hot chocolate?”

Andrew pushes his mug across her desk.

The next weekend, in Columbia, Andrew looks at Neil and tells him he’d blow him. 

Neil smiles like it’s a challenge, all red hair and blue eyes like some sort of siren sent to drag Andrew into the depths. If he was still on his meds, he’d ask Neil if the carpet matches the drapes. But he’s not. Besides, he knows the answer. It’s kind of.

_ You’ve gone with the thick rims _

_ Big look with the lip ring and things _

The Maserati quickly climbs the ladder to be one of Andrew’s favorite things. It’s not a loud car, but it is  _ powerful _ and makes Andrew feel like he could burn the world down when he drives it. And Neil paid for it. In  _ cash. _

Andrew tests it out by driving them to Columbia that weekend, once Neil has been given the all-clear from Abby. The Maserati doesn’t disappoint, and Andrew pushes it to the limit, relishes in the purr of the engine. Neil, who has never once expressed interest in cars, looks like he’s enjoying himself. Maybe he’s just happy for Andrew. Matt definitely was, what with his mini-freakout over the car. Maybe Boyd isn’t so bad after all. He’s the only one on the team with even a moderate interest in cars. 

They get ice cream at Sweeties, nothing else, and  _ fuck, _ Andrew missed it. Neil gets sorbet, which is an affront to humanity in Andrew’s mind, but it’s fine because Neil looks blissed out of his mind, sucking absentmindedly at the spoon. Either he knows  _ exactly _ what he’s doing to Andrew, or he is incredibly oblivious and exists only to make Andrew’s life harder. 

Eden’s is fucking  _ packed. _ Maybe because it’s around Valentine’s Day and nothing says  _ I love you _ like hooking up in a bathroom covered in graffiti and disgustingly sticky floors. Or maybe Andrew just doesn’t want to be around people. Probably both. 

It’s not that Andrew wants to be alone. He doesn’t want to be alone. He just doesn’t want to be around  _ people. _ He wants to be around one person in particular. 

That person is Neil, who raises an eyebrow at him while he sips his soda, probably thinking back to their last talk at Eden’s. He looks  _ different. _ Maybe Nicky roped him into some makeup? No, makeup does a lot of things but it doesn’t change how his eyes shine. His pupils are wide, and Andrew’s traitorous brain draws on all of the knowledge it houses.  _ The human pupil can expand up to 55 percent when looking at something you- _

Oh. Oh no. Hm. Pupils also dilate according to lust, and with the way that Neil’s staring him down, that’s the more likely option. Andrew stares right back, lets his face relax, leans back in his seat. All subtle things he’s learned over his years of picking up random guys to blow in the bathroom. 

Neil’s eyes narrow, tracking how carefully Andrew is holding himself. He’s survived on reading body language. Neil may be an idiot, but he’s not  _ stupid. _ Neil bites his lip. So it seems Nicky  _ did _ rope him into some sort of lip balm. Andrew wants to lick it off.

“You told me something last time we were here,” Neil says as he trails his finger through the condensation on his soda can.

“I did.” Andrew takes a sip of his whiskey. If anything is going to happen, he is going to be completely sober. 

Neil affects an innocent look, as pure as possible for someone like him, what with his lethal tongue and torso decorated with scars. Surprisingly, it looks good on him. But Andrew’s biased. Anything looks good on Neil, now that he actually dresses like an adult and not a fifth-grader coming home from a field trip to the science museum. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

Oh, so Neil’s impatient. Andrew can  _ definitely _ work with that. “Patience, rabbit.” 

Neil just tilts his head back and drinks the rest of his soda. Andrew watches his Adam’s apple bob and indulges in thinking about the noises Neil would make if he left a hickey there. It’s well within possibility at this point, so Andrew doesn’t need to berate himself. 

Nicky throws himself into a chair half an hour later, sweaty and covered in glitter that he  _ definitely _ did not have on at the start of the night. “I don’t know where Kevin and Aaron are, but my feet hurt and I wanna go  _ home,” _ he groans. Andrew pulls out his phone and shoots Kevin a text.

_ Leaving in 10. Get Aaron. _

**fine.**

Ten minutes later, as promised, they’re in the Maserati driving to the house. Nicky took one look at the hickey peeking out of Kevin’s shirt and  _ screeched, _ while Aaron remained conspicuously silent, his ears  _ bright fucking red _ . Something to deal with tomorrow. Andrew has other plans for tonight.

Aaron and Kevin haul Nicky to his room, then split, leaving Neil and Andrew in the kitchen. Neil drinks a glass of water (he confessed during one of their truths that he only drinks soda at Eden’s because their water is even worse. Andrew is inclined to agree after working there for a year), waiting for Andrew to make the first move. 

So he does, turning on his heel and starting to walk up the stairs. He doesn’t hear Neil moving to follow him, so he looks over his shoulder. Neil’s just standing there, watching him.

“Get the lights.” Neil does. “Come here.” Neil follows him up the stairs and into Andrew’s bedroom. 

It suddenly occurs to Andrew that he hasn’t actually let Neil in his room before. He supposes it’s surprising. For someone who wears so much black and is labeled a menace to society when he walks through the door, Andrew’s room is filled with color. He has two overflowing bookshelves, filled with books he stole from libraries and books Nicky bought him when they had a little extra money, a desk with some more books and pencils scattered across it, and his bed, with its soft dark purple comforter and fluffy white pillows. His dresser has a cactus in a yellow pot on it. Neil takes it all in stride because of  _ course _ he does. He’s the one to fight anyone who calls Andrew soulless and seeing just how much of  _ Andrew _ there is in this room won’t faze him.

Andrew turns to Neil. “Abram,” he says, cautiously. “Yes or no?” He can’t fuck this up, he wants Neil  _ so bad, _ he knows Neil will stop if he asks but right now backing down is the last thing on Andrew’s mind. 

Neil breathes out. “Yes,” he says, and that’s all Andrew needs. He pushes Neil up against the wall, pins Neil’s hands behind his back, and kisses him messily. 

Neil’s mouth is the same as it was that summer, soft and inviting, always searching out more but never demanding it. He gasps as Andrew threads his hands into Neil’s curls, tilts his neck when Andrew pulls back for air, exposing his Adam’s apple and Andrew really can’t fucking resist pressing a kiss there before he sets to sucking a line of hickeys down Neil’s throat. 

He lets out a little choked off whine when Andrew slips his tongue into Neil’s mouth, his piercing clacking a little awkwardly against Neil’s teeth. They adapt quickly, though, and Andrew finds that Neil’s mouth is just as dangerous up close. He wants to drown in Neil’s kisses, fit himself behind Neil’s ribs and curl up there. But alas, this is the closest he can get. 

Neil made more noise a few years ago. Maybe it’s because he’s in a house with three people who are trying to sleep. Andrew will just have to conduct more research, just the two of them, with no fear of being walked in on. A shame. Still, Neil is making these breathy sounds underneath him, clenching and relaxing his fists behind his back. Andrew leans back for a second to let Neil catch his breath.

He’s still fully clothed but he looks  _ filthy. _ Face flushed, hickeys blooming on his neck, breathing heavily, obviously hard in his jeans. Even like this, he’s beautiful. They rest their foreheads together, breathing the same air, and Neil ducks to press a kiss to Andrew’s jaw. In return, Andrew takes Neil’s hands and threads them into his hair. “Shoulders and up. Don’t pull.”

Neil hums. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says as he leans into Andrew for another kiss, groaning just a bit when Andrew shoves his legs apart with one of his thighs. They still fit together so well, even after years apart. 

Andrew slips his fingers under the hem of Neil’s shirt and taps twice. Neil just presses closer, taking one of his hands out of Andrew’s hair to slide his palm further up, rucking up his shirt. There are more scars, but Andrew would expect nothing less. Andrew pulls back again and  _ oh shit, _ he’s never going to get tired of the way Neil follows him. Andrew taps his fingers twice on Neil’s rib. “Shirt off, yes or no?” 

_ “Yes,” _ Neil gasps, going to do it himself. Andrew pulls his own shirt off as well but leaves his armbands on. Equal exchange, no? Andrew revels in the feeling of Neil looking at him. It’s not like the other times, where men viewed him as a means for their own pleasure. Neil looks at him with reverence, like Andrew giving him  _ anything _ is a gift to be cherished. So Andrew keeps his shirt off. 

When he pulls Neil in for another kiss, he brings their bodies to press together. He loops his arms around Neil’s neck and kisses him softer, lazier, the way he’s wanted to for too long. Neil is warm everywhere and his nails scratch along Andrew’s scalp and thread through his hair oh so gently, making Andrew melt. Neil remembers things about their summer together too, apparently. Andrew isn’t complaining. 

Just as it gets slow, Neil makes it fast again, rolling his hips against Andrew, and  _ oh, okay, _ Andrew does  _ not _ want to ignore that for any longer. He presses kisses down Neil’s torso and when he reaches his knees, he looks up at Neil. “I want to blow you. Yes or no?”

Neil nods. “Yes. Can I touch your hair?”

“Don’t pull.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hm. So Neil is loud when Andrew sucks him off, adding weight to the theory that he was being quiet to make sure the others didn’t wake up. The tongue piercing is a definite hit though. 

Once he’s done, Andrew leaves for the bathroom to deal with himself. He’s so unnecessarily  _ proud _ of being able to do that with Neil, being able to take back something that was ripped from him and  _ enjoy _ it. Oh, and Neil makes the prettiest face when he comes. 

Once Andrew’s taken care of himself, he finds Neil in his room, sitting awkwardly on the edge of his bed. It’s a bad idea, but Andrew’s been full of them recently. Plus, he knows that Neil won’t judge him if it all goes south. 

“Are you a still sleeper,” Andrew asks. Neil nods, surprised. Andrew grabs two pairs of sweats and throws one pair at Neil, getting a sweatshirt for himself. All that’s left to do is ask Neil to stay. But he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat, impossible to say. 

He’s so far in his own head that he doesn’t notice that Neil’s moved until he feels a tap on his elbow. “Andrew,” Neil says. “Do you want me to go?”

It would be too easy to say yes. Too easy to spend another night alone, wanting one person’s presence. But somehow, being asked makes the words come a bit easier. “No.”

“Do you want me to stay?” If Andrew believed in Renee’s god, he’d ask how Neil is even  _ real. _

“Yes. Let me have the wall.” Neil smiles, soft and inviting, and changes into the sweatpants. They’re short on him, ending two inches above his ankles, and he snorts. It’s endearing. Andrew climbs into bed, settling against the wall like he always does. Except this time, Neil crawls into bed too, facing Andrew. He looks like he’s going to say something, and then he yawns. 

“Go to sleep, junkie.” Andrew reaches out and pushes his shoulder. Neil will be cranky as all hell if he doesn’t sleep right, and Andrew’s already bracing to deal with Kevin’s hangover. He doesn’t need another pissy jock on his radar. 

“Mngh.” Neil wiggles into the mattress. “Can I have a kiss?”

Andrew is too weak to deny him. It’s chaste, a promise of more to come in the following days. Neil smiles sleepily, then rolls over, presenting his back to Andrew. Interesting. He has fewer scars here, a mole on his shoulder blade, and his hair curls around the base of his neck. Andrew closes his eyes.

_ Wake me when the bell rings _

_ I’m gonna sleep ‘cause you live in my daydreams _

The next morning, after Neil’s covered up the bruises on his neck with makeup from Allison (for covering his tattoo and bruises from Evermore), Andrew confronts Kevin about his hickeys while he makes coffee.

Turns out giving hickeys to annoying Exy addicts is a genetic trait. Fucking figures.

**Author's Note:**

> wow okay we get it im a hoe for neck kisses
> 
> anyways i haven't kissed anyone since early December because i am Lonely so im frustrated like Andrew teehee
> 
> also life updates! im getting top surgery on august 17th! so I'm gonna try to get something out before then but also i am participating in the AFTG exchange and so that's gonna consume most of my time, plus surgery will put me out of commission for a solid week, if not more.
> 
> n e ways, leave some kudos if you liked it, leave a comment to send me to horny jail ig, have a nice week!


End file.
